Stars are not wanted
by beautifulworld
Summary: The remnants of a newborn power lingers, still, in her fingertips. [Paige oneshot  PK and PH implied]


Author's notes: One-shot, based on Paige's feelings after she saves Henry. Anything you recognise, I don't own. The title is based on W.H Auden's 'stop the clocks'.

The remnants of a newborn power lingers, still, in her fingertips.

(_traitors_)

She is whole, the half of her suddenly the everything. Half of her long ignored, suppressed. Because she doesn't need him. He is her father, and she doesn't need him. She's no angel.

(_I didn't sign up for this so you could play God! So you fix this, right now._)

Because she couldn't. Wouldn't.

And apparently she could.

He hadn't deserved to die, not yet. He'd been right. She thinks once more that it should have been Leo, and she hates herself again. For a minute, she lets herself wonder if Piper knows, and then she stops, because that's something else she doesn't let herself think about. Doesn't think what might have happened if Piper and Leo hadn't screwed up their relationship so monumentally. The Elders. Wyatt. The Avatars. Doesn't think that she and Kyle might be together if it hadn't been for everything that they'd done to make the Elders hate them. Doesn't think that if Leo hadn't become an Avatar, hadn't been so damn determined to protect his (sometimes) evil child, she'd have Kyle. She'd have everything that they could have had, and they'd taken it for granted. Assumed that they deserved it, because Piper had a birthright (a gift only when she wanted it) that she rejected with everything within her. Rejected it as fully as she rejected her sisterhood.

Instead, she tells herself that she loves her sister. Her nephews. Her brother-in-law. She reminds herself that the Elders brought it upon themselves. That Piper and Leo had had no choice.

And then she remembers that Kyle was just an innocent (the _only_ innocent) in all of this. She hates Leo all over again; and a part of her whispers that if she hadn't been looking for the guardian angels, her sisters wouldn't have needed the healing touch of an Avatar; and the circle starts all over again.

(_sometimes even an angel isn't enough_)

There are too many people to blame. Each whisper from her hating self taunts her; she ignores it until she can't any more, and then she finds a demon to vanquish.

(_got to fight the evil, can't fail this time_)

What the fuck does it matter anyway? He's dead, and she's alone, alone, alone. Alone with her love for him; except maybe it wasn't love. She hadn't loved him enough. Hadn't loved Richard enough either, or her parents. She'd loved Glen enough, but he hadn't wanted it.

(_maybe we're just doomed not to find love_)

She decides she won't make that mistake again; she'll love Henry with everything she has, and when that's not enough, she'll love him even more. And she'll just have to hope that that's enough, that he won't be torn from her like everyone before. That he'll never die in her arms, one final breath escaping, one heartbeat in which she learns to truly hate herself. Surprising that she hadn't figured it out before, really. Her parents died for her. Countless innocents. Chris. And Prue. Always Prue.

(_this is the way it was meant to be)_

It's not fair, brutally so, and she laughs a dark, angry laugh and wonders who the hell told her life was ever going to be fair. She wants, unreasonably, to go and show the world, with their fucking happy lives, that there's really no reason to be so goddamn cheerful. But they can be, because they sit in the sunshine and admire the view while she and her sisters fight the darkness that keeps coming through the cracks in the world that God created.

Suddenly Piper's bitterness, her hatred for everything that magic had brought into their lives, makes a hell of a lot of sense. Evil Wyatt is no longer a future fear, the yang to her nephew's yin. He's just a little boy who lost too much, too young; idly, she wonders if it hurts less when you're evil.

(_an angel, just like her, turned to hate because there wasn't enough left to love and absolute power corrupts absolutely_)

Hate turns everything to stone.

She remembers a red rose placed on a stone plaque; thinks of a name, and two dates. Eventually, that too will crumble away into nothingness, but by then there will be no-one left to care.

(_concrete angel_)

She sits, unsteadily, on the outer porch, a haven from shouts of sisters, and Piper's pain, and Billie's demands. She can be herself, here. She can stare at the unopened vodka bottle in her hand, testing herself; when will she fail? It is inevitable, now. Eight years and she still needs the sharp tang of alcohol in her mouth, the heady rush that comes with drinking too fast and eating too little, before she can stumble into bed and dream dreamless dreams. Dream of him. And of him, and only him. Grainy pictures of darkened blood, and the betrayal of everything she'd known. No golden light bathing her hands, ready to save him. No angel was there in time.

Even as she notices that the bottle has smashed, clear liquid spreading across the steps (_Paige, are you drinking again? We've had this conversation, young lady!_) she wonders where her angel is. The broken glass dances across the thin skin of her upturned wrist, a red river gently mingling with the alcohol. She hadn't comprehended what it would be like; hadn't thought that it would hurt. Clarity comes with pain, suddenly, and she opens her mouth to call out, even as Piper is screaming and Phoebe is sobbing. She tries to tell them to call her father, because he is her father and she needs him. And then… a white light. Half a breath, halted forever in time. Nothingness.

Lingering death, as the golden glow in her fingertips stills and is gone.


End file.
